


I understand darlin'

by reddeadmort



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Muteness, Sign Language, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-07 01:05:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18399998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reddeadmort/pseuds/reddeadmort
Summary: This was a tumblr request for a mute reader and trying to confess their feelings to Arthur, and was a lot of fun!





	I understand darlin'

**Author's Note:**

> I did a brief bit of research, and there’s a lot of different causes of/definitions of muteness. I’ve tried to keep it as general as possible, not specifying anything, but have taken the liberty of assuming that the reader is either also not deaf or can lip read if they are. Also, the sign near the end is an approximation of British sign language, but I have taken a slight liberty with it to make it marginally fluffier. Gender neutral reader in this one 😊 
> 
> I stumbled across Plains Indian Sign Language (PISL), also known as Plains Sign Talk, while looking up details for this; according to Wikipedia, was once the lingua franca across central Canada, central and western United States and northern Mexico, used among the various Plains Nations. It was also used for story-telling, oratory, various ceremonies, and by deaf people for ordinary daily use :)

You’d always admired Arthur; he did so much for the camp, always bringing in food, donating far more than any of the others. But recently, you’d started to realise that you liked him more than just as a friend. It had been a subtle shift; you smiling to yourself whenever he sat next you, escalating to your heart skipping a beat whenever you saw him.

You didn’t speak to him as much as you’d like; in fact, you didn’t speak much to anyone, due to your muteness. Where you could, you tried to communicate with gestures or basic hand movements; you knew some sign language, as well as some Plains Sign Talk, but when the rest of the gang didn’t understand it, there wasn’t much point.

Most of the girls in the camp made the effort to try and learn the motions you used, which you were grateful for, as you spent most of your time with them. The majority of the time, however, you relied on your trusty journal, always hanging from your belt.

Arthur was one of the only men that really tried to learn some gestures with you. You loved that he cared enough to try, though it didn’t come naturally to him. He would quite often get frustrated, always at himself, never at you, muttering about how he was too stupid and old to learn this. You always cheered him up by teaching him some words for animals; rabbit was your favourite, the sight of this tall, broad, outlaw, making the shape of bunny ears next to his head always made you laugh. Arthur loved it when you laughed, because you made little to no noise, apart from the change in your breathing; it was like a secret little moment only you two had.

Your favourite thing to do was to sit with him by the fire, journals on each of your laps, writing and sketching. Arthur would show a sketch he made of some plant or animal, writing down the name, and you would either show him a gesture for it or write a little comment for him.

One evening, you were sat next to each other as you watched Sean telling a vivid story about an adventure in a bar, gesticulating wildly like he always did. It was late, and you were tired; without thinking, you rested your head on Arthur’s shoulder. When Arthur moved his arm, you tensed, suddenly aware of what you’d done; you were about to pull away, cheeks already flushed with embarrassment, when you felt his arm wrap around you and his hand rest on your shoulder. Your heart practically leaped out of your chest; deciding to roll with it, you snuggled up closer to him, and he gave you a gentle squeeze.

You hadn’t wanted that moment to end; you two stayed like that until you were the last ones awake, until you could barely keep your eyes open. Arthur walked you over to your tent; he paused, before stammering out a rushed ‘Goodnight’ and striding off to his. You cursed yourself for not kissing him. You barely slept that night, but when morning came you had resolved yourself to tell him how you felt. After last night, surely he must feel the same?

You didn’t see Arthur again until late that afternoon; him and Charles left first thing, while you were prepping some breakfast. When they returned, you could tell he was exhausted; you two stayed up so late he couldn’t have had more than a couple of hours sleep.

You managed to intercept him on the way back to his tent and gently dragged him by one hand over to a log on the edge of the camp, motioning for him to sit down. He did so, and you moved to sit next to him. Your hands were trembling as you got out your journal; you were so desperate to tell him how you felt, it was the only thing you had thought about all day. But now you were about to do it, you were overwhelmed by nerves. Struggling to grip the pencil, you opened the small leather bound book to a new page and began to write; you wanted to make sure he understood exactly what you were saying.

_I think I_

You must have been more stressed then you realised. As you pressed your pencil to the paper to write the next word, you pushed too hard, snapping the lead clean off. Frustrated, you threw your hands into the air before reaching for your knife to sharpen it. Arthur waited patiently, like he always did, with a slightly bemused look on his face. He really wanted to chuckle at your over-the-top annoyance; he always thought you looked so cute when you were frustrated, not that he’d ever make you that way on purpose.

You were sharpening your pencil as quickly as possible; you were almost done when the knife caught in the wood, tearing a huge chunk out of it. You chucked your head backwards, huffing and rolling your eyes, before trying to continue what was left of your sentence.

_I think I love_

When you finished the next word, you turned the pencil in your hand, forgetting it was broken on one side; as you pressed it to the paper again, the lead moved out through the gap in the wood before snapping, leaving almost no lead left in the pencil.

This was too much for you; you slammed the remnants of your pencil and your journal into the ground before standing up and storming off to the edge of the camp. It had taken so much courage for you even to _try_ to tell Arthur how you felt, and now your main method of communication with him had failed you.

You stared out across the plains, wrapping your arms around yourself, a self-comforting gesture. You started to cry; you felt so ridiculous for it, so ashamed of crying for such a silly reason, and that made you cry even harder.

As you raised your sleeve to wipe your tears away, you felt two large hands rest on your shoulders. You span round, finding yourself face to face with Arthur. He frowned as he saw the tears rolling down your face; you couldn’t bear to look at him, refusing to make eye contact, and stared at the floor.

Arthur pulled a piece of cloth from his pocket, placed his hand under your chin and gently lifted your face towards him. Very carefully, he wiped your tears away, making sure to not get the cloth in your eyes. You went to move his arm, to push him away, but as you stared up into those blue-green eyes, filled with concern for you, you softened, and instead rested your hand on his forearm. He smiled as you touched him; the sight made your heart leap in your chest.

“You okay?” Arthur asked you, one hand still cupping your chin. You nodded slightly, giving him a weak smile.

“Come on then Y/N, what were you tryin’ to say. It’s got to be important for you to get so worked up like that.”

He moved his hand to your shoulder, softly rubbing it. You rolled your eyes, motioning for something to write on. Arthur suddenly looked flustered, patting his pockets; sometimes he forgot you needed help to communicate, and he felt so stupid when he did.

You couldn’t bear to see him fretting, and grabbed at his hands to stop him, making eye contact with him. As you held one of his hands, you raised one of yours to the top and centre of your chest and tapped it.

“You….” Arthur said, slightly unsure. You smiled and nodded encouragingly, trying to think what motion to make next. You moved your hand down and across your chest, palm laying flat over your heart, then placed your other hand over it, so that they were crossed. You lifted your fingers and tapped against your chest, mimicking a few heartbeats, then placed your hand in the centre of Arthur’s chest.

He looked confused, slightly frowning; you repeated the three gestures again, but it only made him frown more. _Sod it_ you thought. You reached up and grabbed his face with both hands, pulling him in for a kiss. At first, Arthur resisted slightly, but only for a moment; he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight, kissing you back.

The kiss seemed to last forever; when you finally broke apart, Arthur grinned at you, reaching up and gently tucking a rogue strand of hair behind your ear, brushing your cheek as he did so.

“I understand darlin’” he said, winking at you. “Though I think we should do that again, just to make sure.”  


End file.
